


I almost forgot that I miss you

by AnaIsFangirling (Ana_K_Lee)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Best Friends in Love, Car Accidents, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pop culture references my professor probably didn't get, Pre-Relationship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, This was written for a creative Writing Class, a tiny bit anti-hipster, probably a bit OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:46:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ana_K_Lee/pseuds/AnaIsFangirling
Summary: The last hastily scribbled cross was on November 9th. Today was November 9th and Stiles had forgotten.He froze as he remembered the accident; the flash of the other car’s headlights right before it had hit them, the pain of the seatbelt holding him down against his seat, the sounds of breaking glass, shifting metal and screams. His screams. His father’s screams. How could he have forgotten the day his father had died.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so... I never did this kinda thing before. This was an original story (I actually posted the original version too if you're curious) that I turned into Sterek because Sterek is life (and also because I am most likely to get feedback from a Sterek fanfic than an original story). I hope I changed everything that needed changing.

#  **I almost forgot that I miss you**  

 _“Should I get up? It’s warm in my bed, not comfortable, but warm. I don’t know why I chose to stay in the dorms, I can’t stand those tiny beds. What time is it? 11:46 am. Right. I definitely should get up now… I have a class in three hours, I think. I’m pretty sure I had to read something for it... Whatever, screw it. I’m too tired for this…”_  

It took another 43 minutes for Stiles' internal monologue to end. He had convinced himself that getting up was the wisest thing to do. He especially didn’t want to hear another one of Derek’s speech on the importance of education. Dragging himself out of the covers, he sat on the side of his bed before pushing himself up with his arms. Realizing his mistake too late, he wobbled on his remaining leg and swore as he fell back down on the bed. He froze for a second, staring at his stump and the empty space where his left leg used to be, then laughed as he always did when he forgot it wasn’t there anymore. 

Stiles got up, this time remembering to put on his titanium prosthetic leg first, and got dressed with a pair of jeans he found on the floor in front of his dresser, a black t-shirt that seemed clean-ish and a green hoodie he had left on the back of his desk chair. He found his right shoe on the other side of his bed and looked for the left one until he glanced down at his prosthetic and realized he already had it on. 

His roommate was nowhere to be found but that was not surprising; Miguel had so many classes that Stiles had been scared for the poor guy’s mental health the first few weeks. It was probably for the best though, their personalities were so different, they would have killed each other by now if Miguel wasn’t out of their shared room more often than not. 

It took him awhile to locate his shoulder bag and a few more minutes to find his schedule. He did have a class that afternoon, one that took place on the other side of campus, which meant that if Stiles did not get a move on, he would never make it on time. Shoving his old laptop in his bag with his one and only remaining pen and his trusted notepad, he ran to the door, flinging it open only to stop at the threshold. He sighed and grumbled as he turned around to get his forgotten cellphone. 

“ _One day_ , he thought as he unplugged his phone from the charger, _I’ll know how to adult properly, but it is not this day.”_ He chuckled as he imagined himself as Aragorn and wished for an army of orcs instead of mundane responsibilities. His laughter died in his throat when his eyes fell on the calendar Miguel had put on the door, crossing each day when he left for class. The last hastily scribbled cross was on November 9th. Today was November 9th and Stiles had forgotten. 

He froze as he remembered the accident; the flash of the other car’s headlights right before it had hit them, the pain of the seat-belt holding him down against his seat, the sounds of breaking glass, shifting metal and screams. His screams. His father’s screams. How could he have forgotten the day his father had died. 

Stiles ran out, not even bothering to lock the door. He stumbled and bumped into several people on his way to his car. His keys fell from his fingers as he took them out of his pocket. He snatched them back so violently that his hand got scratched from the asphalt. The pain startled him. For a brief moment, he paused and took a deep breath. It wasn’t enough to truly calm him, but it reminded him to be more careful; the irony of him dying in a car crash on that particular day did not escape him. 

Stiles felt like he was driving on autopilot. He sometimes looked around and wondered how he had gotten there; he tried to remember driving through a roundabout, or under a bridge he knew he had to have passed through, without success. 

Finally, the cemetery came into view and he parked right next to the willow tree at the edge of the lot. He had sat under that tree for hours after the funeral, while his mother, who had reappeared after twelve years just for the occasion, had been playing “perfect host” at the wake. He both loved and hated that tree. It reminded him of his loss but it was also  the place he went to first whenever he came out here. That willow tree was is safe haven in the middle of his personal hell. 

Walking among graves had always made Stiles uncomfortable. He rushed pretending he was just walking down a street until his eyes fell on his father’s grave. 

_John Stilinski_

_April 23rd 1962_

_November 9th 2013_

_Beloved father_

As usual, Stiles felt a pang in his chest when he saw the dark gray stone and the white engraved words, but this time somehow hurt more than the previous years. It was like the first time he had seen it. Not at the funeral, the headstone had been placed months after, once the ground had had time to settle. The first time he had seen it was six months after the accident, once he was capable of moving around on his own without falling on his ass every five minutes or having a panic attack whenever a car sped by. The sight of it had brought him to his knees and he had sobbed all the tears he had refused to let go during those first few month. 

This time, he was on his knees again and he felt silent tears fall down his cheeks. His hands gripped the grass, blades breaking between his fingers. He leaned until his forehead reached the cold ground. His shoulders shook as he finally let his sobs out freely. 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispered. “I’m so sorry Dad.” 

A few hours later, Stiles wasn’t feeling any better. He had cried and apologies for what felt like hours until his eyes had ran dry and his throat had hurt too much to talk. Then, he had wandered the streets near the cemetery and had walked into a quaint little diner where he sat in one of the booths. 

Stiles ordered a coffee and just sat there. They were well into the afternoon, he could see the sky darkening outside the window. He checked his phone and found out he had missed several calls from Derek. His best friend had sent a few texts as well, most of them asking if he was alright or if he needed anything. Stiles hesitated for a moment; seeing him would definitely help, but he wasn’t sure he deserved to feel better. Besides, maybe he didn’t need yet another reminder of that day. 

He put his phone back in his pocket only to change his mind and take it out again. He was just about to call him when the door opened, the old bell on top of it ringing to signal new customers. A man and a little girl came in and sat on the booth right in front of him. 

“Can I get ice cream?” The girl asked. 

“It’s too cold for ice cream sweetie. How about a nice hot chocolate?” 

“But I want ice cream.” A voice answered, but it wasn’t the little girl anymore but a fifteen-year-old version of Stiles sitting in front of his dad in a diner very similar to this one. 

“You do realize we’re in December right? It’s freezing outside!” Jon Stilinski had grumbled, still not completely awake. It had been so early in the morning that the sky had still been pitch black outside. “Please tell me you did not wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn for ice cream?” 

“You said whatever I wanted.” Stiles had said with a smirk. “I’m the birthday boy.” 

“Fine, smart-ass. God, you’re so like your mother…” His dad had sighed. Stiles' smile had immediately fallen at the mention of his mother. 

“I’m not like her.” He had said without any trace of humor left. 

“I’m sorry son, I shouldn’t have brought her up.” 

“It’s okay dad… I’m over it. Over her. I don’t need her anyway.” Stiles had said. He wished he had said more that day. He wished he had told his dad that he was the best parent anyone could hope for, that he didn’t need her because he already had the best father in the world. But he hadn’t. He had just changed the subject and pretended they hadn’t talked about his absentee mother. 

Suddenly, he felt the need for something stronger than coffee. He stood up, leaving a couple of bills on the table, and left in search of a bar. He found a place that looked promising a few blocks away. It looked like a mix between an Irish pub and a hipster bar. The furniture was old and mostly made of wood. The TV was on, showing a rugby match that only one of the three customers was paying attention to. The signs offered different kinds of beers but also some cocktails with shitty puns for names. Even the music sounded like some obnoxious garage-band singing their woes as millennials. Such as they were. 

Stiles sat at the bar and drank several beers as the place became more and more crowded. Then things became kind of blurry. For the fun of it, he had tried the cocktails with the shittiest names. Something called a “Dark’n’stormy”, which had sounded like it would match his mood but ended up being the girliest pinkest drink he had ever seen served in some kind of mason jar for some reason. Disappointed, he had asked for a ‘Death in the Afternoon’ hoping to escape hipster hell by drinking himself into a stupor… 

The mix of absinthe and Champagne must have helped because the next thing he knew, he was arguing with some guy about why Star Trek was better than Star Wars and it had ended in the fanciest bar fight ever… Though why he had thought it was fancy was a mystery to him now that he was in a cold holding cell at the local police precinct. 

The policeman who had arrested him _a forty-something-year-old with a beer belly and short salt and pepper hair_ was really nice, all things considered. Especially after the incident with the handheld metal detector that had beeped at Stiles' leg. It took him so long to remember that his leg was made of metal that the police officer had had the time to freak out, thinking he had a gun or a bomb hidden in his shoe. 

They had talked in the car and while he was being booked. Well, Stiles had talked for most of it but the man was a good listener. He had let Stiles make a call before putting him in the cell but Derek had not answered and Stiles realized that he had no one else to call. It was okay though, because there was no one else he wanted to talk to anyway. 

A few hours and a nap later, the cop came up to the bars and called out for him. 

“Stilinski! You’re free to go.” He said, and Stiles rushed out of the opened cell for fear that he would change his mind if he took to long. He was given his personal effects back and as he walked out of the precinct he checked his phone where he found a few more missed calls and texts from Derek. He was about to dial his number when a voice rang from behind him. 

“You’re not even going to say thank you, asshole?”   

Stiles turned around and found Derek, in his EMT uniform, leaning against an ambulance with his arms crossed over his chest. His partner, Erica, was waiting on the passenger seat. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked before it dawned on him that he was the one who had called him. 

“I’m bailing you out, what do you think I’m doing? Now get in the bus, we only have 45 minutes left to eat before the end of our break.” 

Stiles thought about refusing. He had a bad hangover that probably required hours of sleep in a real bed to go away, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his tiny room with that damn calendar. 

“Genim?” Derek asked when he saw Stiles’ hesitation. 

“Don’t call me that.” Stiles grumbled as he walked to the passenger side and opened the door. 

“Seriously?” Erica complained as she climbed out to get in the back. 

“I am not riding in the back of that thing ever again.” Stiles said while taking the seat she had previously occupied. 

The three of them went to a small mom-n-pop restaurant. It looked too much like a diner for Stiles' liking, but he didn’t say anything for fear that he would have to explain his sudden dislike for diners in general. The waitress came to take their order and Derek forced Stiles to get some food. For awhile, Erica and Derek filled the silence with EMT horror stories that Stiles had heard a hundred times. Then Derek decided to change the subject so that Stiles could participate in the conversation instead of just listening with the same downcast look he had had since they had picked him up. 

“Have you heard from your mom lately?” Derek asked with fake interest. 

“I got an invite for her wedding last month.” 

“Another one? When did she divorce husband number five?” 

“Dunno. I don’t get invites for the divorce hearings.” Stiles shrugged. 

“So are gonna tell me what happened yesterday or not?” Derek finally asked after a short awkward silence. 

“Not.” Stiles answered, his eyes fixed on his plate. 

“Stiles.” 

“Derek.” Stiles mocked using an exaggerated whiny tone of voice. 

Derek sighed. “I know that day is not easy for you-” 

“I forgot.” Stiles interrupted him. “I woke up just before noon without even realizing what day it was.” 

“Sti-” 

“Don’t… Just… I don’t want your pity and I don’t want you to tell me that’s it’s okay because it’s not! You get that? It’s not okay!” Stiles said bitterly, a single tear slid down his face. 

“It’s been years-” 

“So what?! Am I supposed to forget now? Pretend he didn’t matter?” 

“You’re allowed to move on.” Derek said calmly. “That’s what he would have wanted you to do.” 

“But I don’t want to forget…” Stiles sank back into his seat. 

“Stiles, you forget everything.” Derek said with a mirth in his eyes, making Stiles look up at him in surprise. “You’ve stood me up more than once because you forgot we were supposed to meet. You keep forgetting stuff at my place. You never know your schedule even though it hasn’t changed for months. Hell, you keep forgetting you’ve only got one leg.” 

“It’s not the same though…” 

“I know. But like I said, it’s been years… You could put a reminder on your phone… for next year.” 

“I’m not putting a reminder for the anniversary of my father’s death on my phone!” 

“Who said anything about that? I meant OUR anniversary!” 

“Wh-” Stiles almost asked until he realized what Derek had meant. Their anniversary. The anniversary of the day they had met… the day of the accident. It hadn’t been a meet-cute for sure. Stiles had been freaking out in what was left of his dad’s car. He already knew his dad was dead, the car had been completely caved in on the driver side. Then an EMT with dark hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes Stiles had ever seen had leaned against the window and asked him where he was hurt. He had stayed with him the whole time, he had even held his hand when the trauma surgeon had cut off his trapped left leg.

 “And don’t think you can get away with not getting me anything next year, I expect at least one gift or a date.” 

“A date?” Stiles asked with the beginning of a smile. 

“We can go to that cemetery on 8th. I hear there are some great people there.” 

“Oh really? That’s kind of weird for a date.” Stiles teased. 

“Well, we can go to regular dates the rest of the year.” Derek flirted. They started into each other's eyes until someone cleared their throat. 

“You do realize I’m still here, right?” Erica asked from her seat next to Derek. “You know what? Never mind. I’m gonna go wait in the bus. You guys are going to give me diabetes if this goes any further.” She left them in the restaurant where they both stared at their respective plates in an awkward silence. 

“I should go too…” Derek said. 

“Yeah, I-” 

“You should go see your dad.” Derek said kindly. Stiles smiled at him. 

“Yeah, I should go see my dad.” 

They left the restaurant and made plans for a movie night before going their separate ways. Stiles walked to the cemetery. He stopped under the willow tree for a minute and then made his way to the dark gray stone with his father’s name engraved in white. He sat in front of it and fought back tears that threatened to surface once again. Finally, he took a deep breath and smiled. 

“Hey Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please guys leave a comment or at the very least a kudo if you just liked it a little ^^


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